FOX-HUNTING 153 



What opportunities artists miss ! I can 

 imagine no more comical scene for a 

 looker-on. Codling, in hatless wrath, with 

 the draggled brush so hardly earned and 

 rescued, pouring curses on me, whilst I stood 

 open-mouthed, blue, and shaking, with the 

 dripping head in my hands, the hounds 

 crouching and shivering and wretched 

 around us, and the backbone of the fox 

 lying between us our horses disappearing 

 on the horizon ! I think what has stamped 

 this day on my memory was the awful 

 journey home in a blizzard with a tired 

 horse. I hardly knew what I did, but in 

 those days the head at my saddle, and the 

 thought of the run, were ample compensation 

 for all I had endured from the water, the 

 weather, and the wrath of my successful 



